


hateful men

by zxx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fanart, Fanfiction and Fanart, brienne doesnt know what to do with this dramatic man, i like to imagine they were already somewhat friendly before reaching harrenhall sooo, just a short ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zxx/pseuds/zxx
Summary: Jaime & Brienne have been captured by Bolton's men and are still on the road to Harrenhall. Jaime has already lost his hand. This is a ficlet describing two conversations these two have; One by day, one by night. Slight gore/wound (?) warning for a short description of Jaime's stump.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	hateful men

**Author's Note:**

> //hello everyone, thank you so much for reading this. its nice to meet you. this is my first work here, alongside with a fanart I sketched. I'd really love to get some feedback as well as critique. I'm gonna post more Braime fics and fanart in the future, probably some other pairings/fandoms as well. nsfw definitely coming up as well. take care and stay safe for new years eve xx

  
The knuckles on his left hand were scratched and dirty, almost like little pebbles covered with dirt. Every single bone in his fingers was sticking out angrily as if it was about to pop. She cringed at the thought. She didn't like looking at his left hand. It filled up her belly with irrational fear and anxiety - as if fate itself would play a cruel joke on him and make the hand fall off as well. It didn't make any sense, but she couldn't help the uneasy feeling anyway. She caught herself checking whether it was still connected to the wrist every now and then.

The stump was glaring with red and sick green. Blood and pus soaking through the bandage, a sad mess. She noticed him flicking a maggot off it yesterday.

She suddenly felt awful and quickly lifted her gaze to his left hand again, observing his movements with concern. He was trying to rip the stale loaf of bread in half, but was failing miserably. Sweat drops shined on his dirty forehead, streaks of dirty hair hovering over it. It was gold, once. Or was it? Was it just a false memory she just placed in her head?

\- Allow me - she said, reaching out to grab the loaf and help him out of the misery. She kind of expected him getting angry and protesting, but he just left out a tired breath and handed the loaf over without looking at her. So today is a resignated kind of day. Defiance was yesterday, and the day before it. The lion grew weary. She ripped off a piece and handed it back to him. She thought of something to say as he chewed it slowly under his messy moustache.

\- I think we will reach Harrenhal in two or three days top - she blurted out, and he flinched a little at her voice getting suddenly louder - It's gonna be over soon, Jaime. - his name added a bit quieter and after a pause, like an afterthought. Forced. He lifted his angry stare up to her own and his nose scrunched up a bit. He stayed silent.

\- I'm sure they have a maes...

\- Stop it, just stop! - he interrupted her, his voice rough and annoyed. - You don't need to let me know you pity me every time you look at me. I don't want your pity, wench - her stupid nickname spitted out like a bad tooth. She tightened her lips, quickly glanced at the ground and felt the heat come up to her cheeks. He reached out and snatched the other half of the loaf out of her hand. So maybe it wasn't resignated day after all. There were still claws left he could dig into her skin. _Hear me roar._

\- Do you blame yourself for it? For what they did to me, because of **you?** \- She turned her head away and felt her eyes getting wet. - Do you think of the ways you can make it up to me? - Claws digging deeper and deeper. - So listen closely - she shuddered at his voice next to her ear, as he lifted himself and held his face closer to her. He was speaking through his teeth now, his face shaking a bit. - Nothing can fix it. **Nothing.** You can't make it up to me, do you understand this? Do you? She closed her eyes, feeling the tears fall down her cheeks. The air was hot and heavy for a second, and then it wasn't. She felt a sudden relief from Jaime moving back away from her. It was over. He would come back to quiet now. She felt like a swarm of angry wasps attacked her and abruptly left, the sudden silence ringing in her ears.

Still, she couldn't help but look right back at him. His eyes were red and glossy, focused on nothing. He chewed the stale bread like his life depended on it. His skin was sick and pale, all veiny and slick. _Not much time was left until the fever would take him for good_ , she thought to herself. And then the Bolton men wouldn't have an angry lion cub for blackmail anymore.

*******

The night creeped upon them quickly, for which she was thankful. Nights meant the bolton men would get drunk and pass out. Strangely, she could almost feel peaceful in the darkness. Like it was just another day of traveling with Jaime in shackles and the worst she had to deal with was his cockiness.

She stared into the fire, her face feeling hot. Locke and his pack were sitting far away from them (thank gods) by another campfire, screaming obscenities and clanking their bottles. _Two or three days top._ She could do it. They could do it.

– Brienne?

She turned her head to her left, uncertain whether the voice was real. But it was. A pair of green eyes was staring back at her. He'd never called her by her name before, not even once. She furrowed her brows and tilted her head, confused.

–...Yes?

– It's... – he started, closed his eyed and swallowed. Then he looked at her again, tired and defeated. - It's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything. - She raised her brows a bit. "What?" was all she could cough up in response. He looked at the fire, whether disappointed or impatient, she couldn't tell.

– I'm trying to apologize, wench. I'm sorry for what I said before. – his jaw clenched a bit and he breathed out through the nose. She could hear a light wheezing in his lungs. – You were just trying to keep your oath and I respect that. Ned Stark's angry wife can fling herself off the Moon Door for all I care, but you're just doing what you were told. I know what it's like, you know. - he paused and shifted in place a bit, as if he felt uncomfortable suddenly. – When you're just a sword. A _tool_. Do this, do that, go there, kill someone, save another one...

– I respect Lady Stark and fulfilling her wish is an honour to me - She heard herself saying. She was still a bit shocked at how many words that weren't mockery this man had just said to her, but her knight's honour came rushing before her thoughts. He closed his eyes and paused, almost looking like counting down to ten. He breathed in and started again.

– I know. I know, Brienne. It's alright. And all I'm saying is I'm sorry for what I said. That's it - He looked at her again and she felt like the green was about to drip down his face, out of his eyes; that's how intense the stare was. She blinked. He turned to the fire once again and covered his face with his left hand. He dragged it up his forehead and into his dirty hair, pushing it back. He muttered something to her, looking in the opposite direction.

– What? - she couldn't hear what he said. He let out a frustrated sound, a whimper almost.

– Is everything resolved between us now? Can you forgive me?

She blinked again, baffled. Why would he care whether she forgave him? What was there to forgive in the first place? Wasn't she the one who should be begging for forgiveness from a man whose sword hand got cut off for her maidenhood? She cleared her throat.

– You have every right to be angry, Kingslayer, you've just lost your hand because of...

– Just say it...

–...Say what?

– Say you forgive me, woman, just say it, okay? - He seemed very impatient with her all of sudden and she felt as if presented with a small, agitated animal that she didn't know what to do with. She wasn't very good with people and their feelings to begin with, and this strange man was an exceptionally hard case since day one.

– I... forgive you?

– Okay. Okay, good. Good. – He said quietly and calmed down, looking into the flames again. Brienne just kept staring at his profile, confused and worried. His face tightened up and he inhaled sharply. She saw a single tear travel down his cheek and disappear into his beard. Her hand was suddenly on his shoulder. She felt his bones underneath his ragged clothes. He cried silently, but didn't react to her touch.

– Hey, why are you crying? I forgive you, alright? What's wrong?

– Why am I such a hateful man? - he said quietly, tears falling down silently. She suddenly needed to make it okay for him, to make it hurt less, to make him okay. Why, she didn't know; but she didn't care either.

– You're not, you can still redeem yourself...

He let out a small, bitter laugh. He let his head fall on her shoulder and closed his eyes. She felt him shudder a bit with a few more tears and then he calmed down. She didn't know what to do, so she just sat still and let him rest. She heard his small voice once again.

– I cannot redeem myself, wench... Maybe one day I will tell you why.

The fire cackled against the darkness, unbothered.


End file.
